


Strawberry Lemonade

by peachgrove



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Anxiety, Dom Armie Hammer, Dom/sub, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Power Play, Recreational Drug Use, Shy Timothée Chalamet, Slow Burn, Smut, Sub Timothée Chalamet, armie is a stoner, armie is kind of a douche in the beginning, timmy is a soft boy okay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:15:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24665980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachgrove/pseuds/peachgrove
Summary: Armie gets paired with that Timothée Chalamet kid for his final project in an art class that he doesn't even want to  be in. When Armie flirts with the boy in the hopes of not having to contribute to the assignment, he finds himself becoming far more interested than he initially planned.He also finds that this Timothée Chalamet kid, who wears pink sweaters and floral pants and scrunchies on his wrists, isn't as innocent as he seems.
Relationships: Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Comments: 45
Kudos: 137





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> hello!
> 
> so first off i want to say, this fic has no correlation to the epilepsy diaries. this is a completely different au. but don't worry, i'm still writing for that series!
> 
> i hope you guys find this interesting. i plan to update regularly, if you guys actually enjoy it :)

Armie slumps further into his seat and huffs a big sigh of irritation.

God, he doesn’t want to be here! This class, Visual Arts and Culture, was easily the worst class Armie has ever taken in his three years at Cornell.

Not only was the class at 7:00 pm (mostly Armie’s doing because he registered for classes so late), but it was a small class as well. Only around twenty students. Meaning he’s sat at a desk as opposed to a lecture hall. Meaning he feels like he’s in high school all over again. And, seriously, fuck that.

“Kill. Me. Now,” Armie mumbles to himself as he pulls his phone out and notices that they’re only twenty minutes into an hour long lecture. There’s no way he’s going to survive this. Absolutely none.

After fiddling around on his phone for several more minutes, his professor finally utters something that genuinely catches his attention. That’s a fucking first.

“Okay, class. Now, I’m going to release you a little early today, as I’m sure most of you saw in my email--”

And Armie almost screams with glee. He quickly shuts his phone off and sits up in his chair a bit more, antsy to get the hell out of there. Of course Armie didn’t check the email his professor sent, so no, he didn’t know they were getting out early, but what a pleasant surprise.

He almost wants to ignore the rest of what his professor says and just bolt out of the room, but then Dr. Mosley catches his attention once again.

“And the reason for that is because I wanted to give you some information on your end of the semester projects so you guys can go ahead and get started,” Dr. Mosley explains from behind his prodium.

End of the semester projects?! This guy has to be kidding, right? It’s the first week of October and he’s already preparing them for the end of the semester?! Armie wants to groan, but stays quiet. This project is really gonna kick his ass, huh.

“Being that this class is on the smaller side, we have the advantage of working in pairs for this project. That way there’s less pressure on the students as well as less projects for the TA’s to grade.”

Armie scoffs. Advantage, his ass. Group work is a monstrosity to the education system, and everyone knows it.

“For this project, you will be choosing one of the topics we have discussed thus far in class that we’ve related to visual arts. That can be religion, adornment, death, whatever. It’s your choice!” Dr. Mosley continues excitedly. No one in the class quite matches his energy, and Armie almost feels bad. “Whatever you choose, you just have to be able to relate to visual arts, material culture, etc.”

Armie folds his arms and leans back again. A big project is the last thing he wants to worry about this early in the semester, especially in a class he hates as much as this one.

“You and your partner will create a museum exhibit within your assigned room in Klarman Hall. There you will compile pieces of art that you have researched and are able to support your theme with. There is also a minimum of three pieces that you yourself must create.”

Fuck, Armie’s screwed. He doesn’t know the first thing about creating art. He didn’t know this class was going to be hands on in any capacity.

“This will be worth 25% of your final grade, so take this seriously, guys,” Dr. Mosley encourages. “It’s not going to be easy, but if you follow the directions I posted, you’ll nail it.”

Armie suddenly remembers hearing about this project when his professor had gone over the expectations for the class during syllabus week. He remembers being shocked at how much it counted towards his grade, but had pushed it in the back of his mind, assuming he wouldn’t have to worry about it for a while. And now, less than two months later, it’s already nagging him.

Shit.

“Now, I’ve already posted who you all are paired with, as well as sent you an email with your partner’s information. If you guys want to stick around and get more contact info from your partners, then feel free, but otherwise, you all are dismissed.”

Armie thinks about it. Truly, all he would have to do is simply pull his phone out, open his email, and quickly put a face to a name. He already knows mostly everyone’s name in the class, so spotting his partner and chatting a bit would be a fairly easy task, but, god, he can’t be bothered.

He’d much rather take advantage of this short lecture, get in his car, and go to his apartment where Nick is surely waiting for him with a rolled blunt and room temperature pizza.

So that’s exactly what he does.

Armie nudges his way past those who are choosing to talk with their partners a bit and walks out of the classroom, not once looking back or batting an eye at any of his potential associates. He just struts his way out of the hall, slams his car door, and drives home.

\--

“What the hell are you doing back so early?” Nick says as soon as Armie walks through the door. Rather than already having a blunt ready like Armie predicted, he’s actually in the process of rolling one, but Armie can’t complain.

“We got dismissed early,” Armie explains as he tosses his bag and flops down on the couch next to his roommate. He sees that the coffee table is actually covered in Chinese food instead of pizza, but still, Armie can’t complain.

“Wow,” Nick says, raising his eyebrows. “Didn’t know Professor Moby-Dick knew early dismissals existed.”

“Professor Mosley, dickwad,” Armie replies as he throws his arm over the back of the couch. “Besides, it wasn’t a relief or anything. He threw this big end-of-semester project on us the last few minutes of class.”

Nick feigns interest, but Armie appreciates his efforts. “End of the semester? Don’t we have like...three months until that?”

“That’s what I’m saying, man,” Armie scoffs as he watches Nick flick the lighter a few times and before finally taking a long drag. “I don’t want to have to worry about this shit right now.”

“Then don’t,” Nick responds, like it’s that easy. “You never worry about anything until the last minute anyway and you always pull through. What’s so different now?”

“Nah, I won’t be able to do that with this project,” Armie dismisses as he steals the blunt from Nick’s fingers. He takes a deep pull too, holding it in his lungs for a few seconds before blowing it out with a cough.

“Why not?” Nick questions.

“Because,” Armie begins, taking another breath before handing the blunt back to Nick. “It’s a big ass project. We have to make a museum exhibit in Klarman Hall and shit. And the worst part--we have partners.”

Nick blows smoke out with a face before saying, “Ah, dude, group work?”

“Yup,” Armie confirms as he watches the muted TV in front of them.

“Damn, you really are in for it, huh?” Nick says as he passes to Armie again.

“Indeed, I am, my friend,” Armie agrees before taking a few puffs.

Nick shakes his head and sucks his teeth, eyes wandering the muted screen across from them as well. “Shit, man. That sucks,” he says as he crosses his legs. Like him saying that will do anything about it. “Why are you even taking that class in the first place?”

“I had to,” Armie explains as he reseals a tear in the cigar paper. “I needed it for my Business major. It was required for the creativity and aesthetics thingy or whatever. I don’t fuckin’ know. All I know is that my adviser said I had to take an art class and the only one with open seats was Visual Arts.”

“At 7:00 pm, mind you,” Nick reminds as he takes the blunt back.

“At 7:00 pm,” Armie confirms with a nod.

Nick shakes his head sympathetically. “I feel for you, man. I took all of my gen eds freshman year to get them out of the way. Worst decision ever--”

“Yeah, yeah. We get it, asshole. Not all of us can be as smart and as perfect as you,” Armie says with a grin, nudging Nick’s knee with his own. Just to piss him off. It works.

“Oh, shut up,” Nick spits with an eye roll. He hands the blunt back to Armie before saying, “You know if you were actually as smart and as perfect as me you would take advantage of this whole partner thing.”

Armie turns to look at him and frowns. “What do you mean?”

Nick shrugs. “You said yourself you don’t want to have to worry about it. So don’t. Let your partner do all the work.”

Armie almost chokes around the blunt. He’s not sure if it’s the weed or what, but that seriously makes him laugh. Maybe he’s just a dick.

“Nick, that’s so awful,” Armie chuckles.

“I’m serious,” Nick says as he sits up a bit and rests his elbows on his knees. He almost looks proud at his own proposition, and Armie would call him an asshole if he himself wasn’t such an asshole for considering it as well.

“No one’s just gonna do all the work for such a huge project,” Armie explains as he blows smoke in Nick’s stupid face and passes it back.

Nick rolls his eyes. “Obviously not, dumbass. You’ve gotta talk them into it. You know, chat them up, flirt with them, act all distracting and shit. They’ll do the bulk of the work without even realizing it. And they’ll be more willing to do your work when you’re ‘too busy’ or when you ‘really have too much on your plate right now.’”

Armie gapes at Nick for a few seconds before his face curls into a wicked grin. Because Nick is a genius. An actual fucking genius. If Armie puts his charm to the max, he should be able to get through this project without doing much more than putting his name on the final product, easy.

“Man, is this how you managed to slither your way into Cornell?” Armie giggles.

“Ha,” Nick says humorlessly. “I got into Cornell because I’m smart and resourceful. Can’t exactly say the same for you.”

Armie punches him at that.

“Chill out, chill out,” Nick says as he rubs his arm with a laugh. “Who even is your partner, anyway? Did you get to pick?”

Armie shakes his head. “Mosley picked for us. I haven’t even looked though. Haven’t even opened my email in fuckin’ weeks.”

Nick shakes his head too, taking a long pull from the blunt again. He blows it out, saying, “Armie, sometimes I genuinely wonder how you got into an Ivy League school. Because you seriously, on every possible level, do not act like it.”

“At least I was never on academic probation,” Armie jabs back with a grin.

“Okay, that was one time,” Nick defends, pulling the blunt away from Armie’s desperate fingers.

“Well, of course it was only one time. If it happened more than once then you wouldn’t be attending this school anymore, so--”

“Would you just shut your stupid mouth and look at who your damn partner is? Fuck…” Nick huffs, but he’s having trouble biting back his grin.

Armie chuckles but obeys, pulling his phone out of his pocket and opening his email. He’s immediately bombarded with emails from his professors that take several seconds to load, but after a bit of scrolling, he finally sees it in big capital letters: VISUAL ARTS MUSEUM EXHIBIT FINAL.

He clicks on it. Oh, fuck.

“Oh, fuck,” Armie voices out loud. 

“What?” Nick asks from beside him.

“I got that Timothée Chalamet kid,” Armie says with gritted teeth.

Nick frowns, putting the blunt out on the ashtray. “That who-what kid?”

“Timothée Chalamet. You know, the one I was telling you about that almost shit himself when we had to introduce ourselves to the class the first week? The one that talked his way out of presenting our findings on Van Gogh?” Armie explains.

Armie knows the kid. Hell, how can anyone miss him? He’s the wiry, pale boy with the curly hair. He walks into class everyday clad in pastels and sweaters, curls bouncing over his hidden face. He basically looks like the softest person to ever walk the earth, able to be destroyed by a mere gust of wind. So all in all, not someone who’s likely to clash well with Armie’s boldness.

“Ah,” Nick says as he remembers. “Yeah, I remember you saying something about that. The one that dresses all girly and shit. I think I’ve seen him on campus a few times.”

“I don’t know who hasn’t,” Armie says as he thinks about how much the boy stands out in his pale pink hoodies and sparkly accessories. For someone who seems so shy and desperate to go unnoticed, his appearance sure catches a lot of people’s attention. It’s ironic.

“Hey, maybe he likes dudes,” Nick suggests. “Just flirt with him. I’ve seen you talk up a couple of twinks in my time.”

“Dude,” Armie says, putting his face in his hands and cringing at Nick’s word choice. “Don’t call him that.”

Nick shrugs.

Armie thinks about it. Nick isn’t necessarily wrong. Armie’s been with guys before. He knows how it goes. Knows how to sweet talk them. Especially ones like Timothée: shy and unsure. There’s no way he won’t be able to win the kid over. He just has to compliment him a bit, treat him well, make him feel like he’s the shit. Armie won’t have to lift a finger on this project.

“You know what?” Armie says, facing Nick. “You’re right. I don’t want to do this damn project. I’ll convince the kid.”

Nick chuckles and reaches forward to grab the forgotten Chinese food boxes. “I’m always right. Now eat this food. I was nice and got you dinner.”

Armie smirks and leans over to pinch Nick’s face harder than he probably needs to. “Aww, thank you, Niki,” he says in a baby voice before grabbing some food too.

Armie settles in for the night and forgets about the project all together, knowing he won’t have to worry about that class in general until the day after tomorrow.

  
  


\--

  
  


The next time that Armie is in class, he spends the whole time trying to grab the kid’s attention.

Armie spots him as soon as he steps in the door. He’s where he always was, second row from the front all the way to the right. He’s unsurprisingly dressed in a baby blue hoodie and pale pink sweatpants, feet tucked under his desk and face curled over his phone.

He looks to be avoiding just about everyone’s eye anyway, so Armie grabs his seat and tells himself to wait until the end of class.

The whole time his professor rambles, Armie prays that the kid isn’t going to be weird or anything. But, god, can anyone blame him? He can’t stand awkward conversations and from what Armie has seen so far, he doubts the kid is anything but stellar at small talk.

This is going to be miserable.

But Armie just holds onto the fact that maybe his partner will be so awkward and antisocial that he’ll avoid conversation with Armie altogether, meaning he’ll do the project on his own for the majority. Meaning Armie will get away completely scott-free, not even having to convince the kid.

“Alright, class, you’re dismissed,” Dr. Mosley suddenly says. “Remember, you guys should be getting started on this project as soon as possible. Hopefully the whole ‘partner’ situation will discourage any procrastination.”

The class chuckles at that. Jesus, does this guy know how college kids work? Everything is procrastinated.

“I’ll see you guys Monday.”

And with that, the class starts to stand from their seats.

Armie, having already packed his things early, immediately rises from his seat and slings his bag over his shoulder. He watches Timothée carefully, making sure he doesn’t bolt out of the room before he can say anything, much like Armie did two days ago. But no, the kid takes his time tucking his things away in his backpack, straightening out his clothes.

Armie almost feels bad about disturbing him when he finally approaches.

“Hey,” Armie says a little too abruptly. “Timothée, right?”

Timothée just about jumps out of his skin and turns around to meet Armie’s eyes, though he doesn’t hold eye contact for long. He’s instantly staring down at his own shoes, tucking some curls behind his ears and shifting uncomfortably.

“Oh, um,” the boy starts. “It’s actually just Timmy.”

Armie chuckles, trying to make the kid feel at ease. “Alright, then. Timmy it is.”

Timmy glances up at him quickly with a shy smile. A blush has spread from his neck to his ears as his hands bundle up the sleeves of his pastel sweatshirt.

When Timmy doesn’t say anything else, Armie finds himself filling the silence. God, he hopes this won’t be a common occurrence.

“So, we’re partners, huh?” Armie offers.

Timmy jerkily nods, one of his hands pulling at the skin on his neck. Armie assumes it’s a nervous tic, but that doesn’t make it look any less painful. “Mhm, partners. Yeah,” Timmy stampers out.

When Timmy finally catches his eye again, Armie smirks at him, watching him intently so that he feels he has all of his attention. He feels a sense of achievement when Timmy looks away again and somehow turns redder than he was before.

“Could I get your number?” Armie asks, knowing his voice is flirtatious. Hell, he’s doing it on purpose.

Timmy swallows. “Uh…”

“For the project, of course,” Armie adds jokingly. He thinks about playfully shoving the kid’s shoulder but decides against it.

“Yeah, I uh…” Timmy starts before looking down even more and bringing a hand back to grab the back of his neck. “Sorry. I just...I already emailed you my...c-contact information. You might not have gotten it, though,” he stutters out.

“Oh, no, no. You’re all good. I just haven’t checked my email yet. I probably got it,” Armie is quick to ease.

Timmy looks up at him, obviously trying really hard not to look away again. “Yeah, sorry. I just thought… Sorry, that was probably stupid.”

Armie shakes his head, eyeing the way Timmy’s hands shove into the pocket of his hoodie, clearly unable to be tamed by the boy. “Of course, not. It’s not stupid at all. I was stupid for not checking,” Armie promises.

Timmy gives him a tight smile before pulling his antsy hands out of his pocket and grabbing the pink water bottle that’s still sitting on his desk. It’s one of the metal ones that clinks loudly, proven when Timmy taps his fingers on the sides of the bottle nervously.

“Well, I’ll be sure to look for it when I get home. We should be able to meet up some time this weekend and throw some ideas out there,” Armie suggests, trying to meet the boy’s eye through his curtain of curls. He wonders if Timmy keeps them that length just to hide behind them. His hair was rather long for a guy.

“Yeah, definitely,” Timmy tries to utter casually, but it doesn’t exactly work. Armie hears the self consciousness, but ignores it in full.

Armie watches Timmy for a second. His presence up close is far different from when he’s far away. On any other day, if Armie were to just walk past him, he wouldn’t even bat an eye his way (other than to take in his choice of clothing). But here, now, up close, he has this alluring effect to him. Armie finds himself genuinely wanting to know more about him.

But that’s probably just his brain looking for more ways to reel him in, so he doesn’t think about it too much.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you then, Timmy,” Armie says, despite the fact that neither of them really know when ‘then’ is.

Timmy manages to glance at him again. “Yeah, see you.”

Armie blatantly looks the boy up and down and gives him a grin before leaving with a nod. He doesn’t miss the way Timmy’s blush creeps onto his cheeks after he very obviously checked him out.

When Armie gets home that night, he finally checks his email. And, without a doubt, there’s a message waiting for him.

_From: thchalamet@cornell.edu_

_To: armandh@cornell.edu_

hello! i’m timmy. we’re partners for the visual arts project :)

this is my number. can’t wait to work with you!

(212) 555-9519


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for your kudos and comments!   
> i already have an update for you :)
> 
> enjoy!

Armie wakes up the next morning with a groan. Not only because it’s nine in the morning, but also because he’s up at said hour due to his shitty roommate, aka his life long friend, relentlessly banging on his door.

“What?” Armie whines before putting his pillow over his head. Why is it always so fucking bright in his room?!

“Wake the hell up. We have shit to do,” Nick calls back. He bangs his fist on the door again, and Armie’s just seconds away from ripping his hand off.

Armie thinks about his words. Last time he checked, he had absolutely nothing to do today. Let alone with Nick.

“What the fuck are you talking about, dipshit?” Armie groans as he finally sits up and stretches.

“I’m on drink duty tonight at Pi Kapp. I need to go to the store and you’re coming with me,” Nick explains through the wood.

“Like hell, I am,” Armie says back with a bitter chuckle. But, alas, he finally swings his legs over the bed and throws a shirt on. He angrily unlocks his door and pulls it open to see none other than Nick’s shit-eating grin. “That stupid frat-boy shit is your thing. You’re not dragging me into this.”

“Oh, but I am,” Nick says happily as he pats Armie on the shoulder. Armie’s not amused.

“Oh, yeah?” Armie says, crossing his arms. Nick simply nods. “And how’s that?”

“Because you’re not getting in unless you come to the store with me.”

Armie scoffs and shakes his head. This is so fucking stupid. “Nick…” he starts.

Nick quickly explains. “Look, man. I’m gonna need help with all that shit and the guys are making me get everything alone because I didn’t go to that,” he gestures dramatically with his shands, “stupid dinner party the other week.”

Armie frowns. “Dude, you were sick. You couldn’t.”

Nick shakes his head. “These guys threw us in a freezing cold lake at two in the morning--blindfolded, mind you--and made us walk two miles back to campus butt naked with no directions. I highly doubt they give a shit if I was sick one time.”

“Yeah, yeah. I remember,” Armie says as he cringes. He will never understand why so many dudes go through that kind of hazing just to be in a fucking frat. And for what? To pay hundreds of dollars to make friends? To party? To meet sorority girls? Armie can do all of that without a frat just fine, thank you.

“I’m just lucky I don’t have to DD for three weeks straight. Point is, I need your help,” Nick says. “It’ll take me hours to do alone.”

“It’ll take you hours to do it with me,” Armie argues. “What the hell, Nick? Don’t like ten guys usually do this kind of shit?!” 

Nick is silent for a little bit before he starts smirking. “Why do you think I’m waking you up at 9:00 am?”

And Armie wants to shove him so fucking hard.

“You’re seriously gonna get punched one day,” Armie says, though he can’t bite the grin off his face.

Nick gives him two good pats on the chest. He smiles and turns around before strutting away and calling, “Be ready in ten!”

Armie throws his arms out and pouts. “Who said I agreed?”

“I did,” Nick says back, poking his head out of his bedroom door after he’s already stepped inside. “Because I know you and I know you’re not going to be able to survive a Saturday night without getting laid, my friend.”

Armie sizes him up from across the apartment, squinting at him and smirking. “You callin’ me a slut?”

Nick grins at him. “Of the sorts.”

Armie flips him off.

Once Nick goes laughing back into his room to finish getting ready, Armie pulls his phone out and checks his notifications. He just about rolls his eyes when he realizes another responsibility that he has looming over him, once he sees that Timmy responded to his text early this morning.

From Armie:

_ Hey, it’s Armie. This is my number lol _

From Timmy:

_ great! saved it in my phone already :) i have work to do all day but we can maybe meet tonight to talk about the project? _

Armie finds himself smiling at the way the boy texts. It’s quite endearing. But then he frowns at the boy’s proposition. He wants to work on a project on a...Saturday night? Is this kid crazy? Does he seriously not have any plans?

He quickly types a reply, feeling bad but also hoping that Timmy understands that most people aren’t free to do homework on the weekend.

From Armie:

_ Sorry can’t. I’m going to a party tonight. It is Saturday ya know haha. But surely we can work something out for tomorrow? _

Armie looks at what he sent, wondering if him mentioning that it’s Saturday was rude or not. Before he can decide, three dots pop up on the screen, and then a message comes through.

From Timmy:

_ oh you’re right. sorry i forgot :( yeah any time tomorrow really _

Armie eyes the frowny face and almost feels like an asshole for turning Timmy down. But he quickly shakes that off. Timmy probably wasn’t that bothered by it anyway. So he doesn’t respond.

“Five minutes, Hammer,” Nick suddenly calls.

“We leave when I say so.”

  
  


\--

  
  


The next day, Armie wakes up with a pounding headache and a dry throat, having drank way too much the night before. Though one thing he’s happy to find is that he is in fact in his own bed. And even better, he’s in his bed alone.

“Thank you, Jesus,” he whispers to himself as he stretches his arms over his head.

He enjoys himself for a few good minutes. That is until his phone buzzes from under his pillow and he’s reminded all over again of how much shit he has on his plate.

From Timmy:

_ hey, sorry to bother you again. did you have a time you wanted to meet today? _

Armie reads the text and groans. Having subpar conversations with this kid about a project he could really do without is seriously the last thing he wants to do. He’s way too hungover for this shit. 

He thinks about turning Timmy down yet again, wondering if ignoring his texts all together would make Timmy start the project on his own. Maybe if he avoids the boy, he’ll do the whole thing anyway. And he likely won’t tell the professor because he’s far too shy to bring it up. This could work.

Then he thinks about how much of an absolute dick he’s being.

From Armie:

_ No you’re not bothering me at all lmao. Does 1 work? _

He gets a reply almost immediately.

From Timmy:

_ sure! _

From Armie: 

_ Perfect. Let’s get coffee in Olin and work there for a bit. _

From Timmy:

_ sounds good :) _

Armie looks at his clock and notices that it’s 12:00 now, so he better get up and start getting ready before 1:00 creeps up on him and he’s late.

After freshening up in the bathroom, Armie makes his way out of his bedroom to find Nick already sitting on the couch, watching a movie and smoking a bowl. His stoner mind is craving for a hit too, but he knows he should probably be sober for when he meets Timmy in an hour.

So he tries to denounce Nick’s habits as if they aren’t his own as well.

“Dude, really? It’s only noon and you’re already trying to get high off your ass?” Armie says as he passes the living room and makes his way into the kitchen.

Nick blows smoke out before saying, “Oh, shut up. You know you wanna.”

Armie grabs an old pizza box from the fridge before deciding he’s done acting like a saint. “Yeah, I know.”

“So join me, brotha,” Nick says as he scoots over on the couch to prove his point. “Let’s get stoned together and listen to Red Hot Chili Peppers.”

Armie slumps at that. His body aches to just say fuck it and waste the day away with Nick, smoking bowls and bongs and watching shitty TV before they get the munchies and order Taco Bell to the door. Truly it does. But he just can’t.

Armie shakes his head. “Can’t, man. I have to meet up with Timmy.”

Nick cocks a brow, clearly not remembering the boy.

“The kid from my art class?” Armie tries.

Recognition spreads across Nick’s face. “Oh, the guy that’s gonna do the project for you,” Nick confirms with a grin, probably just to jab a little guilt into Armie. It does its job. “What’re your plans? Are you meeting at his place to ‘discuss class topics?’”

Armie rolls his eyes. “No,” he says firmly. “We’re going to the library just to throw out some ideas. Get to know each other. Stuff like that.”

“Yeah, get to know each other,” Nick teases as he does a jerking motion with his hand.

“Stop,” Armie says with a smirk.

“Boring,” Nick calls from the couch. “Trust me, you won’t get much action in Olin.”

“That’s not the plan, anyway,” Armie sighs. “I need to ease into it with him, I feel. He’s not very...he’s super quiet. I feel like I should get to know him a little better. You know, make him open up a bit more.”

Nick shakes his head. “Dude, you are taking this too seriously. Just hook up one time and he'll be on his knees begging you to do the project on his own.”

“Shut up,” Armie says back.

Armie starts walking back to his room with stale, cold pizza but is unsurprisingly stopped by Nick’s hand grabbing his wrist. He looks up at him from the couch, that same shit-eating grin on his face because he knows he’s about to make Armie give in.

“Come on,” Nick whines. “Just one hit.”

Armie shakes his head, but inevitably complies. However, he doesn’t let Nik convince him into taking another. So he gets up and goes back to his room to start getting ready to meet Timmy.

  
  


\--

  
  


Armie finally steps out of the chilly, Ithaca air and into the warm coffee shop only a few minutes after 1:00. He would feel bad about the fact that he got there a few minutes late if it wasn’t for the fact that Timmy is nowhere in sight either.

He frowns as he scans the coffee shop, looking down at his phone just to make sure he wasn’t actually insanely early. 

After a few more minutes, he decides to pull his phone out and shoot Timmy a text.

From Armie:

_ I’m here. _

Timmy replies instantly.

From Timmy:

_ me too _

Armie looks up from his phone again and frowns. He checks the room one more time, sure that he didn’t miss a mop of curls his first go around. When he doesn’t find Timmy yet again, he texts him back.

From Armie:

_ Where? I don’t see you? _

From Timmy:

_ on the brick wall outside _

And Armie wants to facepalm himself. Because, seriously? Maybe the kid isn’t as bright as he initially thought. Who the hell waits outside in the cold for someone when they’re meeting inside a coffee shop? Jesus christ.

From Armie:

_ Oh I’m inside haha _

He tries to seem friendly but inside he’s cringing. Really, kid?

Just then, the door opens again and a gush of cold air flows into the heated coffee shop. Despite the fact that the person is bundled head to toe with a coat, a white scarf and a pink beanie, Armie immediately knows it’s Timmy from the curls peeking out of his hat. 

He smiles and waves him over, not missing the way Timmy still keeps his eyes trained on the ground.

“Hi,” the boy mumbles when he reaches Armie. He chances a glance up at the older.

Armie smiles back at him warmly. He notices Timmy’s poor nose turning red from the chill outside, angry and sensitive under his freckles. “Hey,” he says back.

“Sorry, I saw you outside. I just...waited until you...texted me,” Timmy says awkwardly. Somehow, his face flushes more from embarrassment.

Armie thinks about how adorably awkward that is. He can understand where he’s coming from. He’s dealt with the anxiety of doing something for the first time and not really knowing how to approach it, but he’s gotta say, this situation probably wouldn’t make the average person so antsy. He knows now to be gentle with Timmy.

“You’re fine,” Armie promises. “You wanna go ahead and order something?”

Timmy looks up at him and nods. “Sure.”

They make their way up to the counter and find themselves in an uncomfortable shuffle when trying to decide who should order first. Eventually, Armie sees this as an opportunity to reel Timmy in a bit. So he carefully places a hand on Timmy’s lower back just under his bag, and guides him towards the register.

“You go ahead and go first,” he says in a low voice behind Timmy.

Timmy locks up a bit at the touch, but doesn’t move away. Armie takes it as a win.

After Timmy is done ordering, the barista asks him, “Is that it?”

“Ye--”

“Actually, let me go ahead and get a black coffee too, please,” Armie cuts Timmy off by stepping up beside him.

Timmy predictably looks at him with a bewildered expression. “Uh…” he starts.

Armie glances at him nonchalantly. As if he didn’t plan this out. As if he just thought of this on the spot and is doing nothing more than a good deed. But what he’s really doing is getting on Timmy’s good side. “Don’t worry about it,” he tells him as he pulls out his card to pay.

“Armie…” Timmy says, clearly not very fond of the idea.

Armie waves him off as he punches his pin into the register. “Hey, I was the one who brought up coffee. The least I can do is take care of yours, right?”

Timmy looks away. He doesn’t look convinced, if his bottom lip being worried in between his teeth is anything to go by.

They step aside to the other end of the counter to wait for their drinks. Armie can tell that Timmy is feeling incredibly uncomfortable from Armie’s generosity, so he’s quick to change the subject.

“You’re lookin’ rather bundled up there,” Armie says as he sways to shoulder Timmy.

Timmy blushes again. “Yeah…” he trails off, not knowing what to say.

Armie helps him out. “It’s not even that cold out there,” he notes.

“Y-Yeah, I get...cold easily,” Timmy sheepishly explains.

Armie nods at this. 

Eventually, one of the employees slides two cups onto the edge out the counter and calls their names as well as their orders out loud. They both walk up to retrieve their cups, both getting ignored when they express their thanks to the rude barista. 

Armie takes the lid off his black coffee and starts making his way over to the cream and sugar when he hears Timmy make a noise of distaste next to him. He stops in his tracks.

“Oh, man,” Timmy mutters as he looks down at his frappuccino.

Armie frowns. “What?”

Timmy shakes his head. “Nothing, I just… I asked for no caramel. They always seem to forget.”

Armie eyes the drink and sees that there was in fact caramel. And a lot of it too. It almost seems as if they deliberately ignored Timmy’s request. “What, are you allergic or something?” Armie asks.

“No--not really. It just...makes my stomach hurt sometimes,” Timmy says as he starts to walk away from the counter, disappointed. 

But Armie isn’t satisfied with this, not liking the look on Timmy’s face. He reaches out and grabs the kid’s shoulder to stop him in his tracks. Timmy looks up at him wearily. “Why don’t you say something? I’m sure they’ll make you another one.”

Timmy instantly shakes his head. “No, it’s not that big of a deal, really,” he rambles. “I’ll just...I’m probably just gonna throw it away. It’s fine. I...already had coffee this morning.”

Armie frowns. This for some reason causes Timmy to stumble over his words.

“I-I’ll pay you back, though!” Timmy says quickly. “I don’t want you to think that… I don’t want it to go to waste, but…”

Armie immediately declines this. “No, that’s not what I was thinking,” he assures. “I bought you the drink. I want you to have it. Let me go say something.”

Before Armie can even move an inch, Timmy is reaching out and grabbing his arm. “No, it’s fine. Seriously.”

“Timmy,” Armie says sympathetically as he removes Timmy’s hand from his sleeve. He understands that the boy is probably too crippled with anxiety to face the embarrassment of telling the barista that she got his order wrong, so Armie is willing to do it for him. “It’s not a big deal. They’ll remake it.”

Armie takes the drink from Timmy’s hands and walks back to the counter before Timmy can even get a word out. He feels slightly annoyed with the barista that was not only rude, but also willingly messed up Timmy’s drink (or at least that’s what it looks like). He feels a strange sense of protectiveness, but over what, a coffee?

“Excuse me,” Armie calls. The barista turns around to face him with a disinterested look on her face. “This drink right here was supposed to have no caramel. Would you mind remaking it?” he asks nicely, but the sarcastic smile of his face says otherwise.

Armie can tell that the barista is trying so hard not to roll her eyes. “Yeah, of course.”

Timmy wrings his hands together next to Armie as they wait, too shy to even say a word of gratitude, but Armie knows it’s there.

“There ya go. Sorry about that,” the barista says as she slides a new drink across the counter.

Armie grabs it with a tight smile. “Thanks,” is all he says.

Armie turns and hands the drink to Timmy who reluctantly looks up at him and smiles. “Thank you,” he just about whispers. Armie replies with a grin of his own.

Then, Armie finally makes his way over to the little stand with sugar and cream and straws. He pulls out two packs of sugar and shakes them. He almost doesn’t hear Timmy make a sound of disgust from beside him when he pours them in and stirs the sugar around.

“Gross,” Timmy chuckles as he sips his own drink. “I...I don’t know how people drink black coffee. It’s so bitter.”

Armie grins and turns to Timmy. The boy looks away again, but that doesn’t take away from the fact that he’s finally engaging in conversation with Armie. He actually said something for himself this time instead of waiting for Armie to. It’s a step in the right direction, so Armie humors him.

“It’s not completely black. I put sugar in it,” Armie defends as they start walking past the cafe and into the library.

Timmy shakes his head, curls flying even under the beanie. “Two packs of sugar isn’t going to do much. It’ll still taste like...shit,” he says hesitantly, like he’s scared to offend Armie.

“Well, I guess I just like shitty coffee,” Armie says before he takes a big gulp. It burns the back of his throat a bit, but the comedic gesture makes Timmy giggle, so it’s worth it.

They chose a table to sit at and start to put their things down. Armie doesn’t do much but pull out his laptop, leaving it closed. But Timmy, on the other hand, pulls out his laptop and notes and chargers and everything. He gets comfortable in his seat before he starts removing his layers of clothes, coat and scarf first.

Armie watches him as he sips his drink. “You’re not from here, huh?”

Timmy looks up at him questionably. “What?”

“You said you’re always cold,” Armie says pointing the boy across from him. “No way you’re from the north.”

Timmy smirks. “I am, actually. New York, born and raised,” he says with a sense of pride. 

Armie likes the little lisp he has, the way his mouth curls to the side when he’s smiling and talking at the same time. “I’m not sure I believe you,” Armie teases.

“Well,” Timmy begins, pulling his hair out of the knit hat and ruffling his curls. “Not upstate, no. I’m from the city. I-I grew up in Manhattan. Not quite as cold, I guess, but still rather chilly…”

Armie tries to picture a kid like Timmy in the city. Weaving through pedestrians and tourists, hailing taxis, catching the subway. He just can’t see it. Maybe it’s the boy’s relentless shyness that makes it so off putting. Or maybe it’s the fact that Armie hasn’t been to the city himself.

“That’s not too far from home,” Armie supplies.

“Yeah, I guess. I-It’s about...four hours,” Timmy says before taking a sip.

“At least it’s not a six hour flight across the country.”

Timmy’s eyes go wide at that. “Six hours?! You’re not...from the east coast?”

Armie chuckles at his shock. “I’m not,” he confirms. “I’m from the west coast. Southern California, to be specific.”

“Wow,” Timmy says, blinking rapidly. “But...California is so beautiful, and...they have great schools there. What made you come here?”

“Scholarship,” Armie confirms with a nod. “But it’s also a great school. And it’s far. From home, that is.”

“You wanted to get away?” Timmy wonders.

“Oh, yeah,” Armie says as he thinks back to his life back in California. It has nothing to do with where he’s from, really. It just has to do with his parents. Their constant nagging and insistence on him working for the family business. It was never really his thing, and that caused a lot of unnecessary arguments.

“So you don’t...miss home?”

“Not in the slightest,” Armie says. “I’m not even going home for Christmas. Plus, I’m a junior, so I hardly ever think about home anymore anyway.”

Timmy silently judges this.

“What about you?” Armie says as he leans back and analyzes the boy. The sudden shift in the attention being on him again has him blushing all over, avoiding eyes. “Do you miss home?”

Timmy nods. “I really just miss my family. Especially...my mom,” he confesses quietly. “I’m only a sophomore, so...maybe that’ll go away by next year.”

Armie smiles at Timmy's joke, to make him feel at ease. He likes when Timmy converses like this. It makes it so much easier to talk. It feels less like he’s having a conversation with a wall.

“What do you study here?” Armie asks.

Timmy looks uncomfortable with this question. His eyes leave Armie’s again, and he’s thinking, shit! No, come back. Don’t back into your shell again. This was just getting good. But then the boy speaks, small, quiet, barely heard.

“I, uh...study Fine Arts,” Timmy mutters into his sleeve.

And Armie...stops. Fine Arts. Huh. Okay. That’s...different. Interesting but...surely strange. Armie dabbled in theater in high school, but his parents always told him that art gets people nowhere. The world doesn’t like creativity, they’d say. So to hear someone who has ignored this stigma isn’t necessarily bad it’s just...surprising.

He bites his tongue, stopping himself from saying, _Do you really need a degree to be an artist?_

“Cool,” Armie chokes out instead, keeping his comments to himself. They would just be rude and would likely hurt Timmy’s feelings. “You should be damn good at this assignment then,” he jokes.

This eases Timmy a bit. He bites his lip and laughs, sounding a little forced. “What’s your major?” he returns, likely trying to get the attention off of himself.

“Business,” Armie says, but he finds himself embarrassed by his field of study as well. It was a common joke among college students that business majors have it easy. That their classes don’t require much from them and that they’re only in this field so they can work for their dad right out of undergrad. And while they’re not exactly wrong, he still hates the stereotype.

Timmy knits his eyebrows together. “And you’re in...an art class?” he asks, clearly confused. Shit, Armie is too.

“I needed it for my major,” Armie says, taking a sip of his drink and sitting it down on the table. “Just a stupid gen ed.”

A grin works its way onto Timmy’s face. Armie can tell he’s confident in his next words, because he holds eye contact the entire time. “You’re still taking your gen eds as a junior?”

Armie puts his hand over his face and groans. “Yes! I know. Everyone is telling me this.”

Timmy leans back in his chair and smiles even wider, wide enough for Armie to see his bright, slightly crooked teeth. He brings his hand to his mouth again and chews on his nail as he jokingly says, “Telling you what? I didn’t say anything.”

Armie’s about to call him a bastard before he looks down at Timmy’s hands and finally notices that his nails are...yellow? Not just yellow, but...painted yellow. A pale, almost white yellow spread across each nail cleanly. It throws Armie off guard so much that he can’t control the words he blurts out next.

“Are your nails painted?” he wonders aloud, disbelief in his voice.

For the first time today, Timmy’s face does the complete opposite of blushing. Armie watches as all of the color drains from his face in seconds, the horror of realization crossing his features. He looks like he’s about to run, leaving all of his shit behind at the table. But then he chokes some words out, desperate to explain himself.

“No! Uh...well, yes. Yeah, but...my friend. She, um...I let my friend p-paint them. And I just..forgot to take it off,” Timmy uselessly rambles. At this point, he’s insecurely pulled his sweatshirt sleeves over his hands, stretching the fabric much further than it should go.

Armie feels his blood run cold. Shit! You’re scaring him, he tells himself. Don’t single him out. He needs to like you!

“No! No, I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant… Well, I didn’t really mean anything. I just noticed that…” And then Armie runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. Because now they’re both rambling. Both trying to accommodate the other in the hopes that their opposer will still like them. It’s stupid.

And what’s even more stupid is how quickly Timmy’s face has fallen from Armie’s silly little comment. Armie seriously needs to start taking this kid’s sensitive nature into consideration.

Armie rubs his eyes just a little too hard. “Ah, shit. Look, I didn’t...mean anything bad by that. I just noticed that they were painted, so I said something.”

“Oh,” is all Timmy mumbles back. He still hides his hands.

“I think they look great,” Armie hurries to say. “Really, Timmy. I think it looks so good on you.”

Timmy lifts his head then, hopeful, watching Armie carefully from under his lashes. “You think?” he asks.

Armie nods instantly. “Of course,” he assures. 

Timmy hesitantly frees one of his hands to tuck his curls behind his ear. Armie can see that it’s trembling, but at least the boy is letting him see it.

“Now,” Armie slams his hands on the table, trying to change the subject. “What are we thinking for this theme?”

Timmy sits up a bit more and opens his laptop. He types for a bit into the keyboard before he finally turns the screen so that it’s facing Armie. “I was thinking visual arts and the human body? W-We could relate it to material culture, too. Maybe...I don’t know. It was just an idea.”

Armie looks at the screen and sees a game plan already drawn up by Timmy, several notes taken around the main theme, which reads, “The Human Body: arguably the most globally discussed topic in visual art.”

Armie grins, unsure if it’s because he genuinely likes the idea or because he didn’t have to think of the idea himself.

“Yeah,” he says. “It’s perfect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for your kudos and comments!!  
> i hope you guys like how this story is progressing. let me know what you think!
> 
> my tumblr is sweettimotea if you wanna chat/ask questions <3

**Author's Note:**

> comment let me know what you think!! i really appreciate it!
> 
> let me know if you would like me to continue. i'm really excited for how this story will develop :)
> 
> i'm sweettimotea on tumblr if you wanna chat <3


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